Sunshine and Rain (Make a Beautiful Thing)
by oumwords
Summary: 10 things never to do or say to a pregnant Regina Mills: A guide by Emma Swan.


**WARNINGS:** Fluff. Pregnancy. My mistakes.

**NOTES:** Just a bit of Swan-Mills family fluff. Ten chapters all in all.

...

...

When Emma first hears that Regina is pregnant, the first thing she does is buy a notebook.

Not just any notebook, either. It's expensive and beautiful and thick, bound with cherry red leather. It's small enough to be put away nicely, but not so small that when she tries to write on it, her words are crumpled and pushed inward, trying to fit together. It's a pretty good book as far as they go, she thinks, something worthy of the task, something equally as special as for what she needs of it.

When she's ten, a foster family that semi cares for her leaves her curbside for forty minutes. They apologize over and over when they notice that she's not in the car, and pick her up as soon as they can, but in the time it takes she overhears something she has carried with her: two women, one heavily pregnant, and the other one old. When she thinks back to the moment, which she does surprisingly often, she can still hear the melancholy in the elder woman's voice, trying to recall her own little things that were responsible for making the pregnant woman beam – the cravings she'd had, the things she'd felt, the whole experience.

Emma swears, right there on the curb, that when she's old enough to maybe have a baby of her own, she'll write the whole lot down, and she'll never have to feel the way that woman does, forgetful and miserable for it. With Henry, she doesn't get around to anything, cannot summon the urge, and doesn't want to in the first place.

She just wants to forget forget forget: forget Neal, forget Baby Boy Swan, forget the cell that makes for a home.

When Regina tells her though, dark eyes glistening with fear and excitement and anxiety, with hope and a new beginning with their family, Emma wants nothing but to remember remember remember: remember the way her wife glows, remember the way her kisses taste of mint, remember the way her chest almost splits in two.

So she buys a beautiful notebook.

…

i.

A book of beautiful memories, all about their second child together, quickly becomes a list of what not to do.

Now, from quite early on, she knows what Regina hates, what hurts her, what angers her. She especially knows that Regina's decisions are her own, not hers to judge or belittle or dispute, but when the reinstated mayor appears from around the corner in a crisp white shirt, pulled almost taut against her breasts and showing enough to inspire a double take, Emma just can't stop her mouth from opening, and the dumb words falling from it.

(Fact: Emma Swan exaggerates. The shirt is professional, and more than up to Regina's impeccable standard.)

(Fact: Emma Swan is not possessive – easily jealous, perhaps, but possessive? No.)

(Fact: Regina's newfound pregnancy breasts will look borderline indecent in almost any top, shirt, dress.)

None of the facts really matter, however, when Emma frowns and says, "Don't tell me you're gonna wear that?"

It's more statement than question, and for a long long beat, everything falls silent. Regina's face darkens at a comical speed almost immediately after; Henry's face pales, and he quickly finds a reason to leave the kitchen table. Both because it's more than likely about to get scary, and because he already knows what Emma is getting at. And okay, gross.

Instead of rising to anger and indignation, in a gentle voice, Regina simply says, "I'll wear whatever I choose to wear, dear."

"Yeah, I get that, but..." And she should stop. A more secure, more sensible person, would. She's not the King, and she's sure as hell not Cora, after all.

"No," Regina tells her flatly, in a tone that could maybe be amused, not even looking at her in favor of staring mournfully at the coffee pot, almost full.

She glares in the general direction, and finds herself trying to ignore the way Regina has cut her dark hair short again, almost mirroring the first night she brought Henry home, and Emma can barely stifle the wholly contented sigh that leaves her lips when she fails.

She's beautiful, and from the evil queen or not, it's not the type of beauty people miss.

Not that beauty is what people are going to be paying attention to, for the next few months.

That particular thought turns content into troubled once more, and the chair scrapes against the kitchen tiles when she pushes it back, rising to stand behind Regina, spreading her palms wide against the expanse of the still-flat stomach. She's still trying to get her head around the idea that they've put a baby there together, that their love put a baby there together.

Regina hums, eyelids fluttering, and leans back against her chest.

"It's just a shirt, dear. I'm sure you're the only one paying attention."

"Yeah, I'll bet," she grunts, vaguely agreeing although she knows it's a pile of crap.

But whether it is Regina's startlingly pleasant mood, short answers that make up no argument, or that she's clearly without any intention of changing her clothes, Emma sucks it up and accepts it. She's not about to bodily change her wife anyway, couldn't, without Henry's help, and it's just not worth the therapy he would need.

So instead she smiles, and murmurs into the nape of Regina's neck, "You want me to do something with pancakes, before you go?"

And then later, when she's alone, on a nice fresh page she writes: do not question the clothes, no matter how jealous they make you.

…

Thank you for reading chapter one; I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
